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Page 514
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stooping and dodging, Owain paused briefly to thrust his sword through a man's back as he slid over the battlement. He did not wait to finish the work, if it needed finishing. He ran when he could, fought when he had to, wove and sidled when the press of battling men blocked his path. They were either saved or dead, but Owain did not know which, and he could only carry word of what he had seen.
"Lord Ian," he called at the top of his voice.
He could not see his master. Here near the gate and the stair down into the bailey, the attack was heaviest. A moment of panic choked him. If he could not see Lord Ian, who stood a head taller than most other men, perhaps his lord was already sore wounded or even dead.
"My lord! My lord!" Owain shrieked, striking with the flat of his blade at a man he knew to be their own, in an effort to make him move so he could struggle past.
Greater violence erupted at the center of the group. One man fell, another jerked back. The red and silver of Ian's shield flashed briefly; a third man toppled sideways. The man-at-arms blocking Owain struck and then shifted to the side so that Owain could slide through. His eagerness almost undid him, for he set his foot upon a body that was not dead. A hand grasped his ankle. Owain swung his sword downward in a vicious blow, no longer caring whether it was friend or enemy he struck. More than one man's life hung upon his message.

 
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